


Heineken Feelings

by orphan_account



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Confusion, Lots of it, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:04:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Eric’s wife and baby are out of town and he’s got no one to celebrate a 4-0 win with. Harry comes over, gets drunk, and realises why the girls haven’t been doing it for him.So, 'Heineken Feelings,' or 'Harry Winks Is A Lightweight And Needs To Learn To Stop Talking’





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I lost my password to my old account so i can't update! So I'm just reposting with new chapters. Hope you enjoy. And we're actually going somewhere this time lol xx ps comments make my sun shinier xx

‘I’ve just,’ Harry sighs. ‘I’ve shagged  _so many_  girls.’

‘Okay.’ Eric smiles, a little bemused, and nods supportively, unsure of how to go on. Harry’s an unbelievable lightweight and he’s halfway through his third Heineken, which makes his eyes bigger, and he’s sitting cross-legged on Victoria’s favourite white sofa in his socks, because Eric wouldn’t want her to come back to stains.

The rain is pouring outside, and if it weren’t for Harry Eric would have been home alone. Victoria’s gone to New York with Zoey to see her mum. They’ve barely been married eighteen months and Zoey’s not even one yet, but even the four-day separation is driving Eric into bitter loneliness. Harry agreed to come over for the night, to keep him company, and subsequently celebrate the whole 4-0 derby win and that, and now they’re three beers down and talking about Harry’s love life. And Eric’s just so lonely and

‘Like, I dunno why I’m coming to you,' Harry continues, almost not acknowledging Eric, 'know you were, proper, virgin bride and stuff.’ Eric snorts into his beer at ‘virgin bride’ and tries to disguise it as a cough.

Harry sighs again and Eric’s heart lurches. He hates seeing him like this. He’s so sweet and upbeat all the time, but he gets down, and lonely, and of everyone Eric knows, it’s Harry who really deserves someone to love him. ‘I just. I don’t get anything from it, you know?’ His shoulders slump. ‘Like, I’m twenty-four,’ he drops the ‘t’ and the sentence tumbles out, ‘and I’m wondering if it’s actually all it’s hyped up to be.’

‘Sex?’ Eric raises an eyebrow. He and Victoria keep it pretty PG, you know, complete exclusivity since they were seventeen, and they’re rather vanilla when it comes to anything below the waist. They tried the handcuffs Victoria's maid of honour gave her at the bachelorette party, but ultimately Eric found them uncomfortable and Victoria found them weird and they were thrown out the next morning. Eric’s not one to talk about sex in the dressing room, the tabloids know nothing of his love life, and he may as well be a hermit for all Dele knows.

He gets that his lifestyle is a little out of the ordinary, at least within his profession. Anyone who’s anyone knows that footballers like girls, like sweaty gross clubs and tiny dresses and getting girls out of both of them before training the next morning. Eric’s just never been drawn to that. And honestly, he doesn’t think Harry has been too, even though he’s still partial to a night on the town, spending the equivalent of a degree’s worth of student loans on expensive drinks with twiddly straws that just taste of stale juice. Leave some Tropicana outside for a week, Eric had once told Dele, and you might even manage to keep it up.

He’d got the finger for that and a drunken shove before Dele disappeared back into the writhing crowd, and Eric had gone outside to make out with Jan in the alley and pretend he wasn’t engaged.

Harry nods, eyes still fixed on Eric as he downs the rest of his beer. ‘Sex, yeah. But, like, all of it.'

Eric considers his response. ‘Maybe it’s just about finding the right person, you know?’ He’s trying to be helpful, he really is, but he just wants Harry to be happy, and his cheeks are so rosy, and even Eric’s vision’s a little fuzzy around the edges, and he’s so lonely and

‘But I’ve tried to find her!’ Harry implores, definitely tipsier than he intended to be. ‘Tried – really hard, Diet.’ He looks so hurt, done so wrong by the world. Eric can imagine him trying to impress some Love Island knockoff – not one of the ones he was serious about – trying to be a man and he’s only five nine, Eric thinks, same height as baby Trent, and

‘Oh, Harry,’ Eric laughs, stroking his thigh and laughing. ‘I know. But it takes time, you know?’ Oh, Dier, this is dangerous territory, come on,

‘I just wonder if I’m looking in the wrong places.’ Harry looks so mopey and Eric just wants to cuddle him like he’s tiny baby Zoey and his heart is thumping far too much for one beer.

‘I mean, you definitely are.’ Eric chuckles, looking at him sympathetically. He thinks back to all the times he’s dragged Harry home before he accidentally joins a harem. Girls call him cute, never sexy but always cute, and that does it for some of them, but it shouldn’t be that way. He shouldn’t be the fringe. Harry’s so much better than Tiger Tiger, anyone would be with that kind of face. Tiger Tiger, as he once told Jan, reeks of Echo Falls and the morning after pill.

‘No, Eric, I mean, maybe I’m in the wrong – the wrong – maybe I need-’ His head flops to the side and he seems to measure Eric’s proportions in his head.  
‘Oh, Harry, come on,’ Eric says, laughing but clenching his jaw with the weight of what’s happening.

‘Dier, Diet,’ Harry’s head lolls back around, and he looks up at his friend with those huge eyes, and he’s so serious. ‘Eric, I think I’ve – think I’m -’ He bites his inner lip and looks like he might cry.

‘Shh,’ Eric places a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder, soothing him like a baby and shushing him gently. ‘Harry, I don’t know – I don’t know what to say,’ he stammers, still running his hand across Harry’s shoulder. ‘I just-’

‘Eric, I think I’ve been looking for you.’ Harry slurs.

Eric’s heart leaps and he stops in his tracks. His mind freezes and he’s paralyzed on the sofa.

Okay then.

‘What are you saying, Harry?’ Eric asks cautiously, hands on both of Harry’s shoulders, making the younger man meet his gaze.

‘I think I’ve been having sex with girls to try and distract myself from men.’ Harry’s eyes flicker downwards and Eric gets an ice cream headache. ‘I get it now. I think I need something new, Diet.’

Oh.

‘Harry, do you understand what I might think you’re saying?’ Eric asks carefully.

Harry looks up at Eric and his eyes are blown wide, and his cheeks are rosy and his lips are so pillowy, and then they open and murmur ‘fuck me, Eric.’

And that’s all kinds of wrong, Eric knows that, because he’s married, he’s got a tiny baby girl, and he’s already tried this, had his turn, and Harry deserves someone who’ll love him before they fuck him, and Eric does, he really does, but he can’t, and how on Earth can he tell him all that? Because Harry’s so soft and serious and doe-eyed, practically on his lap, and heaven forgive him because Eric's only human, and all he wants to do is kiss his Cupid’s-bow lips until their colour puts Arsenal to shame.

And Eric’s breath catches in his throat but he’s not a rapist so he just takes a deep breath and rubs his hand across Harry’s shoulder. ‘Harry, you’re drunk, baby.’

‘But Eric, come on,’ Harry leans closer and puts a hand on Eric’s chest, and warmth blooms from the spot and radiates up to his cheeks, but he just shakes his head. ‘M not that – _that_  drunk,’ he whines, giggling as he musses his hand through Eric’s hair.

‘Let’s talk in the morning,’ Eric murmurs, picking Harry up and trying to ignore the little whimper he lets out. He nods and snuggles his head into Eric’s neck.

And as Eric carries him up to the spare he’s not thinking of Victoria and baby Zoey and how he didn’t put his ring back on after the match. He’s thinking of Harry’s brace against Arsenal and how soft he looks and how lovely he is

and what Jan said about letting your feelings be real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember, kids, consent is sexy. drunken kerfuffles are not. eric waits for sober consent before going down on rockin twinks. be like eric.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back boys. and so's dele, back from international break, and he's taking baby winks for a night on the town, altho that's a bit of a liability when **someone** only needs three beers to ask their married best friend to fuck them. come on, winksy. get it together bruh

‘Fuck, Del, weirdest night of my life,’ Harry yells over the music.

‘What? Eric show you his baby pictures again?’ Dele asks, a few more cocktails in and paying a little less attention to Harry than he is to the Rebecca on his lap. She’s got nice legs, Harry thinks, long, and thick like Eric’s, and they look like they’d feel good to sit on, you know, sturdy. They’re a little less covered than Eric’s though, which Dele is evidently enjoying as he run his hands up and down them like they’re the arms of a chair.

Harry laughs and stumbles over his words. ‘No, I – we got drunk and – told him I was gay.’

‘What?’ Harry’s head swims, and he figures he must be more out of it than he thought, since the response seems to come from two directions. Dele’s looking at him, alarmed, perhaps, and definitely confused. Harry realises he’s probably fallen victim to his big mouth again but is too gone to really understand. Dele won’t judge him, he knows that, Dele’s far too nice for that, but maybe he’s talking out of turn. It’s probably not the time, but who cares – it’s not like Eric’s around to reprimand him this time. He hasn’t seen Eric since he woke up and pretended not to remember anything, and hopped in the taxi as Eric finished packing for international break. Now they’re back, and Dele’s taking him out like the best best friend ever, but something’s still not quite right.

‘Well fuck this then.’ Ah, yes. That’s where the other voice was coming from – the Rebecca on his lap. Oops. She was much littler, much more Harry’s size, and honestly, Dele’s Rebecca seemed more his type, in that he could cuddle into her lap and have her stroke his hair while he talked about Love Island and his abuelita and how hot he found her penalty against Colombia.

Harry looks after her awkwardly and tries to call out an apology, but she just turns around and flips him off. She does have a nice bum, really, Harry thinks absent-mindedly, as he slumps back into the sofa.

Falling into a wavy doze, he nurses his beer and lets his thoughts consume him for a while. Maybe those Love Island girls were right – maybe he really isn’t man enough for a woman. But where does that leave him? Is he man enough for football? Is that why Gareth didn’t call him up for international duty? Is he man enough for-

‘Hey, Del,’ his head flops over to face Dele, like it weighs a hundred tonnes.

Dele’s whispering into Rebecca’s ear, and Harry gets distracted by the thighs again, until he hears, ‘but call me, yeah?’

She smirks and raises herself dramatically off his lap. Harry raises his eyebrows without meaning to and she notices, winking at him and sending his thoughts into overdrive.

‘Careful, though, your friend’s a little cutie.’ she calls, walking off a little too slowly to be natural.

‘Don’t I know it.’ Dele shakes his head, swivelling on the sofa to face Harry. ‘Mate, this doesn’t really feel like the time, you know – like, good for you, you know, I support you, and stuff, but – Rebecca has this roommate who’s really into me, and she lives in Shoreditch so it’s like five on the tube, and-’

‘I asked Eric to fuck me.’ Harry blurts out.

Dele shuts up immediately. His eyebrows shoot up and he smiles with bemusement spread across his face. ‘You what?’

‘I was wasted, and I asked him to fuck me.’ Harry shrugs.

‘Harry, that’s a – that’s a lot of pressure to-’ he pauses and stands up. He holds out a hand to Harry, who takes it and rubs his thumb over the juncture between Dele’s thumb and forefinger with a sleepy half-smile on his face. ‘No, you sap, I mean get up.’ Dele snorts.

Harry blushes and puts all his effort into launching up into Dele, knocking him back into a pair of girls who turn around and introduce themselves to Dele with a giggly ‘we’re Rebecca’ which he replies to with a wink. But, in a display of friendship he hopes Harry never forgets, he puts a hand on his back and steers him out of the club. ‘Let’s go and chat this out over a kebab, hey?’ he says soothingly, once they’re back in the cold air of East London at 2am.

Harry wants to melt, and probably tells Dele this, only he can’t quite hear himself, or remember what’s happened more than about 2 seconds in the past, so he just lets himself be led down a street that’s not lit enough for Harry’s (albeit softened) sensitivity. His vision is a little blurry – he’s a beer over his limit, because Dele was chugging cocktails and he wanted to look like a man – but in the tiny ‘side-street’ Dele leads him down he can just about make out two tall men properly going at each other, all but dry-humping in the dirty alley. Harry hears Dele choke and he’s quickly steered away, the memory quickly seeping from his brain, and as the bright lights of the kebab shop hit his eyes, and he’s settled down in a chair by, yes, definitely the best best friend ever, his mind settles a bit.

After Dele’s picked up two donors and taken a selfie with the guy for his son, he comes and sits down. ‘It’s nice,’ Harry smiles, looking at the surprisingly clean interior and spacious seating area.

‘Eric and I used to come here all the time.’ Dele explains. ‘And speaking of – I think you have some explaining to do.’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Harry mumbles into his kebab – which is really good, actually, and that’s why he’s ignoring Dele’s probing.

‘When did it start? When did you know?’

There’s a tap inside Harry, that lets out his deep feelings, and it doesn’t take much to let it out, and all it takes tonight is that kind, sombre look on Dele’s face before Harry opens the floodgates and begins to pour his heart out. ‘He’s so lovely, Del. Ah, he’s just so lovely. He’s well nice in training, innit? Like with all the mascots, he’s well nice to them, he’s-’

‘So you’re into him cause he’s good with kids?’ Dele smirks, taking a sip of his Dr Pepper.

‘Nah,’ Harry giggles. ‘But it’s important, innit? You remember Sasha? Left Nando’s cos there was kids next to us?’

‘Harry, what happened at Eric’s?’ Dele sighs, impatient.

‘Was after Arsenal. Victoria was in America with the baby, went over to Eric’s for beer. Let me have two,’ Harry giggles again.

Dele snorts. ‘He didn’t let you have two, mate, he’s not your dad.’

‘Mm.’ Harry mumbles, letting himself take another kebab break as he mulls over that idea for a little too long. ‘But yeah, I was thinking about Sasha, and Jess – you remember Jess?’

‘Tiger Tiger Jess?’

‘No, Carwash Jess, thought I was-’

‘Stonesy?’

 ‘Slabhead, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh, yeah. Imagine wanting to pull Slabhead.’ Dele smirks, and Harry dissolves into giggles.

‘Looks like he’d get taken off Love Island in the group stage.’ Harry sniggers. ‘Oh, yeah. You watching it this year? Don’t think anyone could beat Jack and Dani, really.’

‘Harry, you were talking

‘Anyway – and Tiger Tiger Jess, to be honest-’

‘Harry, for fuck’s sake,’ Dele groans. ‘I’m calling a cab at 2.30, so you’ve got ten minutes to tell me what’s up.’

Harry shrugs. ‘Told Eric I realised I can’t keep a relationship cos I’m not into girls.’

Dele nods, sticking out his bottom lip to shrug in reply. ‘That’s cool. You know – you didn’t have to hide it from me, right? You could’ve told me.’

Harry’s drunken heart breaks a little bit. ‘I’m sorry, Del. I’m really sorry. It wasn’t about you. Wasn’t really ready to anyway to be honest. Dunno why I told Eric.’

‘You wanted a shag, Harry,’ Dele snorted.

Harry blushes again. ‘Yeah, I guess, but he was like, so nice, and like, no, you’re too drunk, let’s talk about it another time, and tucked me into bed, aw he’s so lovely – and then – I pretended I didn’t remember in the morning.’ Harry slurs, and buries his head in his hands, the memory darkening his cheeks and sinking his heart like thick-thighed, shaven-head, Remain-voting torpedo. He knows he’ll have to talk to him sometime.

‘You’ll have to talk to him sometime.’ Dele says, quieter.

‘I know. But I feel – oh, Del, I feel awful.’ Harry slumps back into his chair. ‘What about Victoria? What if he’s told her?’

‘Harry, have you been thinking about this for two weeks on your own?’

‘Yeah.’ Harry mumbles, pouting a bit. ‘Yeah.’

Dele looks at him for a moment. ‘That’s a lot, mate. To handle on your own.’

‘Guess.’ Harry shrugs.

‘You like him, though? Not just with your dick?’

Harry glares, pouting. ‘Dele!’

‘What?’ Dele grins, slurping his Dr Pepper like a toddler. ‘Oh Del, he’s so lovely, he’s so good with kids, want to have his babies-’

‘Never said I wanted his babies.’ Harry grumbles. ‘Course you don’t.’ Dele winks.

‘You’re not taking this seriously. Knew you wouldn’t understand. Call us a cab, wanna go home.’ Harry mutters.

‘Okay, baby Winks.’ Dele rolls his eyes. ‘Let’s get you home.’

 

He’s glad Harry’s turned to thank the kebab man, and missed those men from earlier walking past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, who were those mysterious men???????? have a guess lol  
> also dele's rebecca is 100% based on Anna from this year's love island. she's a goddess. i adore her. i want to have her children.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric goes to Jan with a problem. Well, two problems. He sorts one out pretty quickly, but the other takes more time.

The syllable Eric whines is far closer to a ‘H’ than a soft ‘J’ and Jan pulls off, saliva and precome dribbling down his chin.

‘I swear, if you’re picturing Harry Winks,’ Jan grumbles, his voice husky. Eric groans and thrusts up into Jan’s hand.

‘Fucking keep going,’ Eric moans, swatting in the direction of Jan’s head. ‘’M so close-’ He’s vibrating with need, has been since Jan opened the doors, and it’s barley taken minutes to get him to this state. Whining like a girl, groaning and pressing crescents into Jan’s shoulders with the force from his fingernails, blindly trying to push him back down. 

Jan moves back and licks a stripe up the shaft, eliciting such a loud moan from Eric, you’d think he’d been blue for hours. 

‘Are you? Are you close?’ Jan asks, smiling as he keeps up the his light attention at the head, his right hand applying the kind of pressure that shuts Eric up. ‘You gonna come for me, Eric?’

Eric lets out a hot, heavy breath, and mutters something about Jan being an idiot, grabbing at Jan’s hair with a loose, delirious grip.

‘Come on, Eric, come on,’ he whispers, the hot air so close to his skin pulling Eric over the edge, but Jan knows his way around this particular part of town pretty damn well so he waits till the very peak to lick a stripe up his balls, and Eric’s releasing with a kind of growl, spurting all up his chest.

‘Minging.’ Jan grimaces, scowling at the cushion that Eric will now be taking away with him tonight. ‘No respect, honestly,’ he shakes his head. 

‘Fuck off.’ Eric’s voice is strained and airy. ‘Fuck off and come back with a coffee, would you?’

 

 

‘But it’s different this time.’ Eric sighs, stirring the bubbles out of the foam Jan likes so much. ‘Cause, like, if he was a woman I’d want to marry him. And that’s - that’s not-’

Jan laughs to break the tension he’s undoubtedly feeling. ‘You‘re just here for the mind-blowing sex.’ he grins.

Eric’s wry smile and shrug assure Jan that everything’s good. ‘But, like, we have a spark, you know?’ he continues, looking down into his coffee. ‘And I’d - I’d being feeling it for a while, something else, but you know what he’s like, right? He doesn’t exactly radiate - well, the vibes, you know?’

Jan’s eyebrows crinkle and he cocks his head to the side. ‘Are you kidding, man?’ 

It’s Eric’s turn to look confused, and he waits for Jan to continue.

‘He adores you. Never seen someone like it. You really haven’t noticed?’ Jan rolls his eyes at Eric’s pure ignorance.

‘But he knows -he knows Victoria. Knows about everything.’ Eric’s face is as crumpled this time as it was the night he told Jan, the night after he’d had to turn Winks down, then hear him forget about everything. ‘Wouldn’t think he’d be-’

‘Eric, if Victoria wasn’t around, would you make a move?’ Jan interrupts. 

‘He hasn’t texted me since I saw him. Didn’t come on international break so it’s been nearly three weeks - nothing, and I can’t help thinking-’

‘Dier, would you make a move?’ Jan pulls out his Captain voice and Eric shuts up immediately. Okay, so it’s not exactly fair play, Jan knows what the voice does for Eric and it’s kind of unfair to use it to his advantage in this situation. But it’s primarily for discipline, isn’t it, and leadership, and Eric could do with a bit of that right now.

He gulps and looks down. ‘Yeah.’ There’s a minute of silence. Jan almost hadn’t expected that. Sure, Eric was fond of Harry, fond of the boys - and boys in general. But the implications, the consequences, the possibilities of that situation were more startling the more Jan thought them through. ‘But it doesn’t matter,’ Eric continues. ‘Because were teammates, and he doesn’t remember!’

‘Said it before and I’ll say it again, that’s bullshit.’ Jan mutters.

‘And how on Earth could I leave Victoria? And Zoey? What kind of dad would I be if - I’m a married man, Jan,’ Eric’s voice is bordering agitated, and Jan can tell he’s beginning to ramble. ‘And we’ve talked every day but I haven’t told her a thing, haven’t mentioned it, and sooner or later she’ll find out, somehow, it will get out, and what will she-’

Speak of the devil, Jan thinks, as Eric’s phone rings. His eyes goes wide and he quickly picks up. ‘Hey, baby, everything okay?’ Eric’s phone voice is calm, but something must be hitting him real-time because from the moment he picks up, something changes. 

Jan stares at Eric, whose face is twisted with concern. ‘Everything okay?’ he whispers, confused by the worried expression on his face.

‘Baby, calm down, calm down, what is it?’ Eric says, his voice smooth like honey. Jan’s always in awe of the way Eric can be so calm in stressful situations. Always around to offer advice, listen to his teammates’ troubles, open his heart to anyone who deserves it. ‘Take what? What? You’re talking too fast, love, I can’t understand you!’ Eric says, louder this time, evidently trying to make himself heard. 

Then his jaw drops. ‘Oh,’ he replies, short, and biting. Jan’s consumed with curiosity as to what could have evoked the reaction. ‘Baby, what time is it where you are? Maybe we should be having this conversation-’ He’s cut off and chews on his lower lip as he listens to the rest of his wife’s explanation. ‘Okay. Well, I need to think about it. Yeah, okay. Bye. Bye. I- bye.’

Jan knows what he’s cut off, knows what three little words he couldn’t bring himself to say, and he reaches out a hand across the table. He strokes Eric’s arm gently, trying to offer his support as much as possible without intruding. Something about Eric is heartbreakingly fragile, something brimming in the corners of his eyes. They stay quiet for a minute, Jan not wanting to break the silence. 

‘She’s drunk,’ Eric half-laughs, not meeting Jan’s eyes. ‘It’s, like, midnight in Vietnam.’

‘Nice for her.’ Jan chuckles.

‘Yeah.’ Eric shrugs. ‘And the baby’s not mine.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry the more i write the worse this gets. but also i want to get some closure on it. thanks for getting this far, please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking by! a longer chapter today. character development. an attempt at humour. more dele. yay.

‘ _I can’t take it anymore_ ,’ she had yelled, the loud sound of bass in the background still haunting him. ‘ _Zoey’s not your baby, Eric_!’

All he could say was, ‘ _oh_ ,’ so quietly she probably didn’t hear. 

‘ _We need to end this, it’s not working, I’m sorry. Oh, Eric, I’m so sorry._ ’

 

Jan took his phone after the eight apologetic text - not apologising for the affair, actually, but for the news in the morning. It had been one of Victoria’s friends, apparently, who’d got the wrong end of the stick and was ‘trying to do the right thing.’ Who for, Eric had wanted to scream. Who could that have possibly been good for? He’d thought about countering it, but only for a few minutes in the deepest depths of his anger. 

He’d call Dele that night, so it wasn’t a shock. H, too. He’d probably have some wise nonsense to spew, ‘it is what it is’ and such. Harry Kane was so full of sayings he could run one of those trinket shops with boards that read ‘it’s better to be full of wine than full of crap,’ or write the script for a Love Island movie.

 

After an episode or seven of Gilmore Girls, and enough wine to impress his mother, Eric’s completely forgotten about calling. He’s cuddled up on Jan’s sofa with a dog of some description and a thick maroon blanket that probably cost way more than it was worth. He talks through the first few episodes, the overwhelming sense of shock spilling out of his mouth like water through his fingers. 

Because he’s sad of course, and hurt, and heartbroken, and hurt doesn’t really constitute because he doesn’t have a baby anymore, tiny Zoey isn’t actually his, all the hours he’d spent telling her that she had his nose rendered void and obsolete. And he’s full of questions, too - how long had she been seeing whoever it was, was it an accident, had she planned to leave him anyway, why - why did she say yes?

If she knew she was pregnant with another man’s child, Eric had rambled, turning his head to face Jan’s across the room with glossy eyes and a drooping pout, why would she say yes?

There’s more wine after that, which was probably a Poor Choice from Jan, but then again, it hasn’t exactly been a day for good ones, has it. By 9pm the sun is dropping slowly across the horizon and they’re giggling at something that isn’t remotely funny, and discussing which of Rory’s boyfriends was the best for her. By 9.30 they’ve decided that A. it was Dean, B. it should have been Kirk, and C. it’s time for bed.

Somehow making his way up the stairs, Eric bundles himself into bed in a pair of Jan’s flannel pyjama trousers, which only just fit him and are suggestively tight in Harry Winks’ favourite injury space. The wine mists up his brain and the last thing he thinks of before bed is Harry, who somehow hasn’t crossed his mind all evening.

 

When he wakes up, it’s Too Early, Too Bright and Jan is making Too Much Noise next door. They eat breakfast in companionable, grown-up silence, and drive in with Mariah Carey’s Greatest Hits on the car stereo. Eric thanks Jan sincerely as they pull up to Hotspur Way and Jan shakes his head.

‘Anything for family,’ he smiles gently, clapping his hand on Eric’s shoulder and opening the car door.

The changing rooms are quiet, training is quiet, but he gets odd glances that he doesn’t quite understand until a ball rolls through his legs and he’s hit with an ‘oi!’ way too close to his ear.

‘What’s up with you and the Missus?’ Dele jogs around him, his face a concoction of concern and - is Dele offended?

‘What?’ Eric asks, not quite registering the words being thrown at him.

‘I have to find stuff out in the Metro, do I?’ Dele rolls his eyes. When Eric’s face doesn’t change, Dele raises his eyebrows. ‘Harry sent me a snap of the paper this morning. Wait, do you - do you not know?’ His eyes go wide. ‘Eric! You were in the paper!’

Suddenly, the words click and he remembers the phone that Jan must have left under the sofa cushion. Victoria’s friend. Really, though, selling out to the Metro? She couldn’t have chosen a more reputable news outlet like, he didn’t know, the Sun?

‘Oh good grief. Yeah. Yeah.’ Eric rubs a hand across his face and looks away.

‘You weren’t gonna - you didn’t wanna tell me?’ Dele’s voice is a bit shaky, defensive, and Eric’s hit with a wave of guilt.

‘Del, I’m sorry, I - she called me last night and I just, you know, got drunk and went to bed.’

Dele’s eyes go wide. ‘So I’m the only one who knows?’

‘And Jan. I was at his.’

‘Oh.’ Dele’s face compresses into a pouty frown. 

‘Del, listen, about-’

‘You know Winksy really likes you, don’t you?’ he snaps. ‘You’re not a complete moron?’

‘Not the nicest thing to say to a man who’s been cheated on in public but go off.’ Eric says drily. ‘And - I - kind of.’ 

‘He got drunk and told this group of girls in Fabric that he wanted to have your babies.’

Eric nearly falls over.

‘He what?’ he splutters.

‘Okay, okay, I exaggerate-‘

‘What?!’

‘I’m being dramatic-‘

‘How! Which part is the exaggeration!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s a lot of things to exaggerate about, Del, what was the real part of that story?’

‘Told us all he’s into you. Like, four girls. Then we left and went for a kebab and he told me all about it. I turned down a threesome to listen to that, so, you know.’ Dele shrugs. ‘One of them was one Love Island, like, three years ago.’

‘Wow.’ It’s all quite a lot to process. 

‘Good friend, I am.’ Dele nods smugly to himself. ‘Which isn’t quite the same for you, is it, Mr Vertonghen?’

Eric glares. ‘Can you pack it in?’

‘All I’m saying is you can’t turn down Winksy cause you’re married then suck Jan’s toes the minute his girlfriend leaves him.’ Dele hisses. ‘Saw you two at it like dogs on Friday. Disgusting, the pair of you.’ 

‘I did not - Del!’ Eric snaps. ‘This is all very-‘

The trainer comes along at that point and they resume their drills, passing skill fully between the cones and into the tiny , stupid goals, smiling benignly at Stuart as he takes notes on their technique.

‘Glutes letting you down again, Eric.’ Stuart comments. ‘Any strenuous activity?’

Eric tries very hard not to look at Dele as he replies, ‘no, just a run yesterday morning.’

‘No freaky weekend activities?’ Stuart grins, not knowing either of them well enough to make that kind of joke. Eric feels his cheeks explode with heat and he’s even more careful to avoid Dele. ‘I’m messing with you, lad. Don’t worry, I’ll send the reports onto Stella for the afternoon.’ He trots onto Danny and Son next to them and Eric’s eyes go wide with disbelief.

‘So, any-’ Dele begins, but Eric holds up a finger as if to say, here is the line, the line is here, it’s covered with salt, step over it and you’ll disintegrate.

‘It was only this weekend. Saw him on Friday night when we got back from SGP, went out for misery drinks, went home, drove over Sunday afternoon for, um,’ Eric mumbles.

‘For a shag?’ Dele asks, never one to beat around the bush.

‘No, we didn’t - didn’t get that far.’ Eric blushes hotly as he explains. ‘Anyway, Victoria called me in the afternoon, properly drunk in Vietnam, and told me that the baby, you know.’ He shrugs and slots a clean goal that would have White Hart Lane in ecstasy if he could ever pull it off in a real game.

‘What?’ Dele asks, puzzled. Eric cocks his head to the side and Dele elaborates. ‘What about the baby?’

‘You know, from the paper.’

‘No,’ Dele shakes his head. ‘Paper says that you’ve been having an affair and you’ve got a girl pregnant.’

Eric’s eyes go wide and he stops in his tracks, paralysed like a deer in headlights. ‘I didn’t!’ he stammers. ‘That’s a lie!’ His eyebrows draw together and, it’s 99% because of the hangover, but his lower lip begins to tremble. ‘She cheated on me! Zoey’s not my baby!’

His voice is soft and breathy and he sees Dele’s face change but Eric’s at least temporarily distracted because it’s really the first bit of closure he’s had on this. He’s told someone on his own terms. Sort of. Then he turns to get the ball from behind him and sees Harry Winks no more than ten feet away, gaping at him like a fish.

‘Hi, Winksy.’ Eric smiles drily. ‘How’s it going?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drama.


	5. Chapter 5

'So,' Eric begins, more hesitant than Harry's ever seen him. He clicks the key into the lock with shaky hands and when it opens he jumps like that's not what he was expecting. 'This is my house, I guess.' 

Harry smiles awkwardly. 'I know, Eric, I've - been here before.' He follows Eric across the threshold and is greeted with the familiar white and blue decor, the dark brown wood that Harry knows Eric hates and the matching frames filled with photos he assumes Eric hasn't had time to take down. Zoey's barely three months old but it seems she's travelled the world already, the walls crawling with photos of her clutched tightly in Victoria's arms from the house in New York, to Eric's parents' place in Portugal, to a field where neither of them look particularly warm or happy or comfortable with the large dog jumping up at them. 

'Yeah - so, here's the loo,' Eric continues, nodding as though he listened and pointing out the little blue bathroom next to the shoe rack like he didn't. 'Coats just go here-' He takes Harry's jacket off his shoulders, hands brushing against each other in a way that makes Eric's cheeks bloom with colour as he turns to hang the coat on the banister. 'Food should be on its way, I think.'

Harry nods. 'Yeah, of course, I know-'

'I ordered it for 7, but it might-'

'Eric, I ordered it.' Harry laughs, taking out his phone. 'Look, it's fine, it's in the 'delivery' bit of the circle, see?'

Eric inspects the screen like he's never ordered pizza before, and it occurs to Harry that he might not have. Eric's always been better than him with food control. Beer and fancy cheese is about as far as he'll stray away from Stella's diet plan, sticking to grilled chicken and fresh vegetables, because apparently cooking gets rid of the most nutritious parts of the food, and it's at its best when it's fresh. Harry would argue that it's at its best heaped on crispy dough, or fried in a pan, or better yet, substituted for chips and chicken nuggets (strips, he's meant to call them now, chicken  _strips_ ).

They flop down on the sofa, in a silence that Harry thinks is mutually comfortbale until Eric blurts out,

'So,' he says, benignly. 'You still gay then?'

He claps a hand over his mouth as soon as it comes out and Harry can't really respond. His mouth opens and closes, a smile grabbing at his lips from both the nerves and the hilarity of the situation.

'Oh my- Harry, I'm so sorry, I don't know where that came from, I'm-' Eric stutters, and Harry thanks every god he can remember from primary school RE when the doorbell goes. 'I'll get it.' He jumps up and races towards the door like Sergio Ramos is on the other side. 

Harry doesn't like to mill things over, particularly, and he lets the question go. Yeah, probably. He's probably still gay. He'd watched Fleabag while the others were on international break, and it would probably only take two beers for him to admit he'd had a wank over the priest. 

'Pizza!' Eric grins, brandishing a box that any other man of his size could probably finish in minutes, if they weren't going for a holistic nutritional in thirteen hours.

 

'She coming back here, or,' Harry asks, trailing off with a mouth full of the garlic bread he'd insisted on adding.

'Nah. Taking Zoey, going to the... new man.' Eric explains. 'Old man, I guess.' He chuckles darkly.

Harry's curious, and he kind of knows he shouldn't be, but - 'is he old?'

'Yeah, actually.' Eric laughs again. 'Used to babysit. Bit ironic now, isn't it.' He takes a particularly vengeful bite and Harry looks down at the plate balancing on his crossed legs. It's really only a matter of minutes before it topples and the sauce goes flying onto the white leather but by the way Eric wipes his hand on the cushion, Harry presumes he wouldn't really care.

'I'm sorry for airing you.' Harry says, his mouth chasing a chunk of mozzarella sticking desperately to the pizza. 

Eric looks up at him unexpectedly, confused.

'When you was on international.' Harry explains, pizza threatening to spill out of his mouth. 'Didn't really know what to say.'

Eric's face is usually deadpan, always, a kind of warrior-like visage that's hard to break except for his angry frown, with the eyebrows, and that smile when he laughs while exhaling, the smile that looks like the sounds 'HA' and 'HUGH' put together. But it doesn't go much further than that - now, though, there's a sad tinge to the edge.

'You remember, that night?' he asks, quietly, carefully, with these notes of caution that make Harry's carefully shaved arm hairs stick up.

'Yeah, when I told you - when I, came out, I guess.' Harry stutters.

Something in Eric's face shifts, clicks, and he nods. 'Yeah, of course. Coming out. It was really brave, Harry. Who else knows?'

Harry stumbles over the brain sequence, tripping over what exactly to say. 'Dele. And, like, 4 girls at Fabric.'

Eric looks confused.

'Looks like I can only talk about my feelings when I'm smashed.' Harry giggles. Eric shakes his head disapprovingly but joins in. 'But, no, I'm sorry for ghosting you. You was the first person I told, and I wasn't sure how you was taking it, and I didn't know what you'd think of me, if anything was gonna change, I don't know, and I didn't want you to-'

'Harry, what did you think I'd do?' Eric's eyes are wide, maybe even hurt? The emotion in his face is too much, Harry thinks he needs a beer.

'I don't know.' he says sheepishly. 'I didn't wanna scare you away.'

'Harry,' Eric's eyebrows are knitted closer together and it occurs to Harry just how much he likes the sound of his name on Eric's tongue. 'I just wanted to give you space. You didn't seem to be in the best place, and I didn't want to force anything onto you. I really care about you, you know?'

Harry kind of wishes Dele were here to watch this scene play out, to throw popcorn at them and shout GAY and diffuse the situation because Harry can feel that he's about to say something really, really dumb like-

'Eric, I love you.'

He keeps looking at Eric for a couple of seconds before his brain properly registers the words that just left his mouth. Then they reach him, and he's hit with that same emotion Eric must have felt before the pizza came.

'And I didn't want to mess that up and say something stupid, but I did, I just did, I just messed it up, and everything. is,' he trails off, and he's really trying not to cry because he's a grown man, dammit, and it's seven thirty on a monday and he's stone-cold sober and what the heck is even going on, and why is Eric looking at him like that?

'Harry, I love you too.'

The words hit Harry like a big blonde tidal wave, and he feels his face heat up as he sits there under the rays of Eric's smile, basking and smiling and not-quite-believing.

'I didn't want to be your mistake,' Eric says slowly, looking out of the window. 'Like you said, I didn't want to change anything if you didn't want me, but, I really do, Harry, I really love you. And if you feel the same way, I - I don't want to take it slow.'

He leans closer to Harry, and Harry's heart goes into overdrive. His brain fizzes like a parma violet in water. Eric's warm hand comes up to cup his jaw and he looks up into his clear blue eyes. The colour matches the bathroom tiles. _That's not what he should be thinking. Focus, Harry. You're about to get a snog. Stop thinking about bathrooms._

'Can I kiss you?' Eric whispers, his voice deep and throaty, and Harry thinks he might just die right there as he nods vigorously and Eric leans forward, and he's closer, and closer, and-

Kissing Eric is everything he'd expected it to be, soft but firm at the same time; it's warm and it melts Harry a little bit, and he's really good at the whole pressure thing, and he feels himself being lifted onto Eric's lap like he weighs nothing, and then they're just so close, and  _kissing_ , and fireworks are going off somewhere outside which Harry thinks is the  _best coincidence ever_ _._

Eric is the first to pull away, his lips shiny in the gentle glow of the fairy lights on the ceiling and his eyes bright and soft at the edges. 'I can't believe it.' he says quietly, running a hand through Harry's hair with a tangible sense of adoration that makes Harry shiver.

'You know,' Harry beams, running a hand down Eric's chest with a deep sigh. 'Everyone sings your song in the stands, and there's a lot of em, you know, who proper love you. But no one,' he says, his heart glowing, 'no one could love you like I do. It's just not possible.'

Eric's mouth goes up at the edges before he crashes forwards and their lips meet again, more desparate, more heated, like they've been waiting their whole lives and they've got minutes to spare. Harry's never been good with his tongue, he's been told by more disappointed girls than he can remember - but Eric is, for sure, and Harry's squirming and whining around on his lap and absolutely  _gone_ with it, until Eric suddenly pulls away.

'You remember, don't you?' he asks, his eyes wide and hungry, his voice husky and so low Harry's temporarily bowled over, until he understands the words, realises what Eric's really asking, and smiles sheepishly, burying his head in Eric's neck. 'You still want it, baby?' Eric whispers, mouthing at his jaw, wet lips leaving a sloppy trail down his neck. 'You still want me to fuck you?'

Harry moans like a porn star, and he's actually rather impressed with the reaction he gets from it. Eric growls and sucks particularly hard against a spot on Harry's neck that makes his hips jolt upwards and he grinds experimentally against Eric's hardening crotch. 

'Tell me what you want, baby,' Eric groans, kissing his way back up to Harry's face and pulling away just far enough to look Harry in the eye. 'Tell me.'

Harry's breath is heavy and he fumbles for the words. 'Want you to fuck me.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and I oop-


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a really silly chapter with a heap of fluff - advanced warning. had the idea a while ago. loved it. hope you enjoy!!

‘So can I,’ Harry’s sleepy voice breaks Eric out of the stupor he didn’t know he’d fallen into. ‘Can I stay the night?’ he mumbles, edging his head across Eric’s shoulder towards the juncture between his head and neck. He places a lazy kiss at his throat and settles against the warm, flushed skin. 

‘Course you can, baby.’ Eric nods, the smile on his face cozy and soft. He leans forward to peck Harry on the forehead and revels in the heavy breath he lets out. The air is warm, the bed is soft, and Eric has been plied with enough orgasms to satiate a raging bull in heat, or Jan Vertonghen after the Dortmund goal. He cuddles Harry further into his arms and releases a long, deep breath down Harry’s neck. He could fall asleep there and then. 

‘Good.’ Harry hums, snuggling closer to Eric. ‘Cos I don’t think I can - move,’ he yawns, smiling, ‘for a while. In a worse state than bloody Brexit negotiations,’ he murmurs, chuckling with hot breath that tickle’s Eric’s chest and sends off sparks like fireworks. 

Then something clicks in Eric’s brain, mand he decides that despite the hact state of his sleepy brain, teetering on the edge of consciousness, this is the perfect opportunity for his question. Harry’s big button eyes, shiny like a perfectly tempered chocolate glaze, are half-closed in the post-coital daze, and Eric isn’t sure he’s ever been so in love. He’s so lost in the moment, in fact, it takes a minute to reword his question. Eric leans up on one elbow and gently rolls Harry onto his back, so they’re face to face. With a bemused smile, Harry asks ‘what is it?’

‘I wanted to ask you something,’ Eric begins, tracing circles across Harry’s bicep, down to the dimples on his elbow. Harry relaxes into the gentle touch and the fireworks in Eric’s head (the outdoor ones have stopped now) fizz and crackle dutifully. 

‘What’s Brexit?’

Harry freezes and Eric wonders what the matter is. He turns slowly and crinkles his eyebrows.

‘What do you mean?’ he says slowly, his eyes not yet fully open.

‘Hear people talking about it all the time.’ Eric explains, his voice thick on the edge of sleep. ‘Just wondering. You like the news, don’t you?’

‘Eric, did you not vote?’

‘Of course I voted. It’s the law, isn’t it.’ Eric bristles, offended that Harry would think he’d pussy out of such a simple law.

Garry looks as though he was about to make a comment, opening and shutting his mouth like a finish, before finally asking, ‘How did you vote then?’

Eric wrinkles his brow. ‘Labour.’ He thinks that’s what it was called. Eric didn’t rrally understand. Jan had talked to him about it a bit, and explained the whole thing about taxes being a good thing, and which parties he could vote for. There were three, Eric remembers, with different leaders and different local leaders, and it was all quite confusing, especially since he’d been tied up with Jan’s regulation Boss tie and fucked senseless only minutes beforehand. 

‘Okay, but what about in the referendum?’

‘The what?’

Harry’s face drops. 

* * * *

Harry’s face is somehow even more angelic when he sleeps than it is when he’s awake, and running around like a Labrador puppy. He pouts his lips, and his brow uncrinkles, and Eric would kiss him all over if he wasn’t certain it would wake him. As Harry drifts off to sleep, every breath slower and deeper than the last, Eric is struck with an idea. He carefully unwraps himself from Harry’s koala-like arms, and reaches carefully out for his phone. If this Brexit business is really as important as Harry claims, he should say something, shouldn’t he? That’s what that Hector what’s-his-name would do anyway. He should tweet.

He rolls over, and Harry wraps himself back into Eric’s arms as if he knows exactly what he’s doing. Eric smiles as he falls asleep, falls into this new reality, where he’s forgiven for his mistakes and given a fresh start, where Harry Winks sleeps in his arms, where Eric Dier is a political junkie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! pls comment if you liked it, they literally make my day 💖💖


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